


Stumble Back Home (with me.)

by RealUnicornFrappuchino (VinWrit)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED!, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Old Injuries, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, They finally talk! At least a little!, baz whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25585174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VinWrit/pseuds/RealUnicornFrappuchino
Summary: “Snow,” he says, and his voice is soft and almost expressionless. “We’ve got a double to share,  if that’s -““That’s fine. Aces.” I say, and I can almost convince myself that it is fine, that the prospect of being so close to him now, only to lose him tomorrow morning, doesn’t fill me with a selfish kind of dread.”Or: vampire healing isn’t completely foolproof.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 18
Kudos: 196





	Stumble Back Home (with me.)

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, this one took a lot longer than expected. There’s a bit of angst, but it ends on a high note :)

**Simon**

When we finally get back to Heathrow, it’s late. We’d hit turbulence on the last leg of the crossing back across the Atlantic, and although I’d managed to sleep right through it, Baz - 

Baz hadn’t slept a wink. 

I finally get why they call these sorts of flights red-eyes; because if I hadn’t known him better, I’d have thought he’d been crying, and as it was, I remember the staff at the airport asking if he was okay after we reclaimed our luggage. But he hasn’t: it’s been the fact that he’s gone the last three days without a decent night’s sleep that’s done this to him. 

The truth of the matter is that Baz always looks his most put-together when he’s close to breaking apart. It was true in America, and it was true before that. Perhaps it’s still true now.

In any case, he looks like a fucking mess. 

He’s disheveled, for one thing, and he has his hair tied back in a loose, bedraggled ponytail to keep it out of his face. The dark shadows beneath his eyes are darker than ever, stark like bruises. We didn’t sit together on the plane, but for the few hours I’d managed to stay awake before crashing completely, I’d been able to hear him flipping through the same out-of-date menus and travel magazines, over and over and over again. Nothing had changed when I’d woken up again, thirty minutes before we began our descent back to London ground, and if I’d been seated closer to him, I’d have offered him a pen - at least then, he could have had a go at the crossword. 

We’d flown in economy class once again on the way back. Penny had bought the tickets for the earliest possible flight back, and it had been eerily silent despite the fact that every other available seat had been taken already by the time we boarded. The quiet drone of the engines had been enough to lull everybody to sleep, but not Baz.

If I’d turned my head, I’d have been able to see him sitting wide-awake next to Shepard across the aisle, two rows behind me.

Thinking about it, I’m not looking any better than he is. The girls had changed at the airport before we’d left the States, but Baz and I… Well. We’d left most of our remaining spare clothes behind in the mad rush to get back home, and what I’m wearing could probably do with being freshened up considering I’d spent much of the journey back from Vegas almost comatose, but Agatha and Penny are too drained to cast any spells. I haven’t asked Baz.

I don’t plan to.

He isn’t talking to me, and perhaps it’s what I deserve. I can’t even look at him at the moment, because every time he catches my eye there’s this sad, closed-off look on his face, as if he’s realising that I’m really no good for him after all.

I’m not going to break up with him, not yet. Not until he’s had a decent night’s sleep, at least. It feels cruel to keep him around when he would so clearly rather be anywhere else, but I can’t bring myself to spring that kind of thing so soon after… everything. Perhaps it’s just cowardice, but I think I’ll do it when we get back to Watford – Penny’d said that whatever it was was urgent, and my skin crawls at the idea of Baz going into what might be a battle and having to worry about me on top of everything else. He’d said, once, that we were stronger together, but that’s a lie. I’ve seen him in the desert in Nevada. I’ve seen how that sort of concern throws him off.

Baz really is an incredible mage when he doesn’t hold himself back, but that’s all he’s ever done when I’ve fought beside him.

He’d said that he wouldn’t be happy anywhere without me, but it had been a long, emotionally-charged few days, and nearly dying tends to make people say things they come to regret later. What happened with The Mage taught me that.

I hadn’t meant to kill him. I’d just wanted everything to _stop,_ just for a second, so I could have a moment to breathe without that awful weight on my chest. I’d used to think it was my magick, or something to do with the Prophecy, but then it only got worse after everything with the Humdrum finished, and now I’m not so sure. It had gone away, briefly, in America, but as soon as everything with the Next Blood started – or NowNext, or whatever they called themselves – it had all come crashing back down again.

Pen had offered to drive us back once Baz had collected his car keys from the airport carpark’s reception, but he’d just shaken his head with a muttered _“I’m not that tired, Bunce,”_ and she had let the issue go, too tired to argue. Maybe I should have challenged him on that point – he’d have listened to me – but I hadn’t said a word. Instead, Penny and I had collapsed into the backseats; and a second later, Agatha had joined us, scrunched up against the window uncomfortably like she was trying to keep her distance. Then, Shepard took the passenger seat, saying that he wanted to try and get some good views of the city as we drove through it, but it had been dark enough that I doubt he’d have been able to see much of anything at all.

Baz always drives like he’s late to an important meeting – taking every bend at reckless speed, always driving as if it’s only magick that’s stopping him from crashing or careening straight into a ditch. I know that’s not actually the truth – he just has incredibly quick reflexes and an unstoppable urge to get from A to B in as little time as possible– but that’s definitely not the case now. He just drives and drives with none of his usual joy and exuberance, and the car crawls at a steady pace through empty suburbs and deserted dual-carriageways until we finally find an exit to join the M25. 

And he’s silent as a ghost. He doesn’t answer Shepard’s probing questions or try to start any sort of conversation. Baz just drives and drives, and the three of us in the are too exhausted to pass comment on any of it.

Agatha eventually relaxes into the plush leather car seat, resting her head on Penny’s shoulder, and her eyes flick between me and Baz with a narrow kind of suspicion. I’d expected her to look golden – as if California had solved all her problems, perhaps – and traces of it linger around her like a faint, residual glow. Perhaps, before she’d gotten caught up in whatever trouble we’d pulled her into, she might have seemed a little more comfortable in her own skin than she ever was at Watford; but now she just looks small, and tired, and wary in a way that makes her seem like a stranger.

The silence swallows us whole – and I lose myself in the rumble of the tires and the steady swish of rain against the windshield, and the familiar taste and chill of the air.

* * *

Eventually – the LCD display on the dashboard says it’s nearly three in the morning – the rain stops, and we end up parked outside a Premier Inn, the white concrete façade streaked with dark stains.

By the time we all make it to the foyer, I’m not quite sure how I’m still standing. My wings and tail are still invisible. They had started to cramp on the plane, from being hidden away for so long, and now I’ve lost the feeling in them completely.

I know from experience that when I’m finally able to stretch them out properly, I’ll have pins and needles, and they’ll ache like hell, and I’m starting to wonder what the point is in keeping them, because all they do is remind me of things that were never mine to have in the first place.

Magick. Baz. A happy ending.

Aggie, Shepard and I wait near a set of ugly plastic plants in large pots as Penny and Baz approach the welcome desk, rifling in their pockets for the last of their cash, and I see Penny sneakily duplicate a few twenty-pound notes while the receptionist isn’t looking. Agatha – Agatha is looking uncomfortably at the car, as if she would rather stay out in the cold than stand with us here, in the shitty foyer of a low-budget hotel.

Shepard is looking around us, at the summer decorations posted in the windows – sad-looking cardboard cutouts of palm trees and tropical islands, and posters proclaiming that _children eat free in our restaurant_ , and that _unlimited continental breakfast starts at seven_. After a while, he pushes his glasses back up his nose and says, “Well. This isn’t all that different from some of the hotels back home.”

I say nothing. There’s a spiderweb lurking in the corner, near a key-collection box mounted to the wall.

Eventually, Penny and Baz return to us – Baz looking gaunter than ever in the greasy artificial light, with a keycard in his hand.

“They only had two rooms available.” Penny says, shaking her head. “So, Agatha and Shepard – you two will have to share a family suite with me, I’m afraid. There should be space for three of us.”

There’s something else, an apologetic look in her eyes, and I know that she’d be saying “ _Money’s too tight for anything else,_ ” if she could get the words to come, but something’s changed since we got back. Everything with Micah threw her off, majorly, and it’s like she’s lost some of her spark.

Shepard hurries to her side almost immediately, already walking with her towards the stairs, and Agatha follows, muttering a quiet _“fine by me, I guess,”_ as she goes.

And then, we’re alone, apart from the receptionist. Baz turns to me, and there’s something exhausted in his face that seems more than just bone-deep. He’s gone at least a week without feeding – and he’s swaying on his feet, jaw clenched, his eyes too bright for this time of night. There’s still a charred spot of sunburn on the top of his nose, and it pulls any colour he might have had left in him out of his face.

“Snow,” he says, and his voice is soft and almost expressionless. “We’ve got a double to share, if that’s -“

“That’s fine. Aces.” I say, and I can almost convince myself that it _is_ fine, that the prospect of being so close to him now, only to lose him tomorrow morning, doesn’t fill me with a selfish kind of dread.

Baz gives me a tight smile and looks at the card in his hand. “It says here that we’re on floor four.” He says, and makes his way toward the doorway to the stairs, but something’s not quite right. He’s staggering slightly, dragging one leg behind him, and I reach for his arm, as if to steady him, but he’s already striding out of reach.

“Baz – are you okay?” I ask, but he just grits his teeth and keeps walking.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” He says, but his voice is too brisk, clipped as if to end an argument. He strides on – but he’s taller than me, and I can barely keep up when he’s like this. Maybe he’s mad at me, hating the idea of having to share a room. I wouldn’t blame him if he was. 

And then, as we reach our floor, I catch up to him, and find him wrestling with the lock on our room door. He’s standing unevenly, shifting his stance, and I wonder how I didn’t notice how he hasn’t passed any sarcastic comments at all about the hotel’s bland and tasteless decor. Something’s wrong.

Finally, he gets the door open, and I wonder if perhaps, now that we have sleeping accommodation, he’ll be able to relax, at least a little.

There’s one double bed in the centre of the room, and a table with a chair, with a pile of menus for nearby bars and takeaways. It’s lit dimly by the thin silver ribbon of light that is the M25, visible through the cracked blinds. There’s a small bathroom, and a kettle and tea-making facilities on a small shelf near a built-in wardrobe with a peeling veneer coating on the doors. I flick the lights on, and Baz places the key on a small shelf by the door and turns abruptly back to me.

“Will this be –“ He starts, but then he wobbles, and his knees give out from under him, and what he was trying to say is covered by a short, gasping cry of sudden pain.

I’m by his side in an instant, trying to cushion the fall, and we crumple to the floor together. The carpet smells of cigarette ash and lemon furniture polish, and Baz is clutching his knee to his chest. The door is still open, and I shove it closed with one hand, wrapping him in a one-armed hug and helping him to sit against the wall. Against me.

I’d be ecstatic about how close we are if it didn’t hurt; if I didn’t have to worry about how much Baz was hurting.

“What just happened?” I ask. Baz is a vampire, after all. It’s not like him to just collapse.

“I haven’t- I’ve not had any blood in days.” He gets out, his breathing growing ragged, brows furrowed. “Haven’t slept for even longer. And you know that time- the start of eighth year, when the Numpties-“

“When you got kidnapped, you mean?”

He gives a pained nod. “When I’m like this – old injuries tend to play up. They did something to my leg when they took me from the club, remember? It never healed right. I shouldn’t have driven us back.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask him. “I know they’d – but Jesus, Baz, you shouldn’t have let yourself get this bad! You could have told us how you were-“ and now my own voice is growing tight and trembling, and my eyes are itching as if I’m trying not to cry. “Penny or me or – Christ, even Agatha! We would have helped you!”

“I just need to sleep, Snow.” He says, burying his head against my chest – and then I hear him say something else against the fabric of my shirt, but I can’t make out the words.

“What?” I ask.

“Hm?” He hums, and repeats himself, but the words are still muffled.

“Baz.” I say. “You’re gonna have to speak up, love.”

He shifts, and winces, and I hate this – he shouldn’t be in pain. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s got one hand clutching his knee like a lifeline, the other pressed to where he’d been shot when we were in America, and it’s my fault. If it weren’t for me, Penny wouldn’t have even booked the plane tickets – even I’m not that dense that I can’t spot an intervention when I see one – and none of this would have happened.

Baz pulls away for a second, and I mourn the loss of his weight against me, and then he licks his lips, and answers – clearly, this time.

“I- I didn’t want any of you to worry, Snow. You have enough on your plate as it is.” He sighs. “Looks like I’ve got no choice, now.”

“Baz, I-.” I try to start; to say what, I’m not entirely sure, but he cuts me off.

“I know now that that was a mistake, because it seems like…” he says, and slumps back against me, seeming defeated, “like even though I heal quickly, it’s not permanent.”

“Okay.” I wrap my arm tighter around him and press a kiss to the top of his head, and try not to think about how it might be the last time. Baz needs me now, because right now I’m all he has. His hair is silky-soft against my cheek, and the slight frizziness of it makes me ticklish.

“Snow.” Baz mutters. “Your wings.”

Shit. The spell has worn off, by now, and they’re starting to ache – the red-hot burn of a trapped limb slowly regaining circulation. I can’t ignore them - they’re like a great big warning sign.

Baz is still curled up against me, though, and I’m clinging to him.

“I think I can stand.” He says, raising his eyes for a second. “If you want to have a stretch.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. His forehead is scrunched, as if I’m a puzzle he’s considering – and I want to kiss him until he feels better. I’d seen an article about that, once – something about endorphins speeding up the healing process. Maybe there’s truth to it.

He’ll hate me, tomorrow. I know. But I stand, and stretch and groan, flapping my wings until they feel a bit better. Baz watches me from his place on the floor, his eyes growing heavy. Then, he stumbles to his feet, blinking exhaustedly and groaning as he does.

“D’you need a hand?” I ask him.

“If it’s not too much trouble.” He says, and I reach down, and heave him into my arms.

Baz goes willingly. He’s light, unhealthily so, and he wraps his arms around my neck and holds on for dear life with a surprising amount of strength.

“Bed?”

We’re both too tired to shower – although God knows we need it – and I’m not surprised when he nods.

He sits up against the headboard; atop the duvet, sinking into the plush pillows, and I help him with his shoes and jacket, careful not to jostle anything.

Then, I flick on the kettle.

It’s late. If I thought it’d help, I’d make him a coffee - there’s a few of those sachets of fancy latte mix you can get, put in a little caddy near the kettle. But caffeine will be no help at all, what with how drained he is already. There’s tea, and I root through the little container of drink mixes until I find -

“Baz.” I say. “They have hot chocolate – d’you want any?”

“Yes, please, Snow.” He says, and I tip the sachet into a mug and add a sachet of milk. It’s not good – just the same shitty UHT stuff found in hotels everywhere – but once I add some hot water, he shouldn’t notice it. I grab a few of the biscuits off the side for good measure, because he hasn’t eaten, and then I’m back by his side.

He takes the drink, and I worry that he might spill it, but Baz quells that thought with a look.

I look away, and the biscuits are gone. A second later, he’s placed the empty mug on the coffee table, and I turn to put it on the sink to drain, and get a sudden idea.

* * *

I leave the room briefly to go to the Tesco across the road, returning with shoplifted painkillers and sandwiches for Baz. I’ll be fine - I’d eaten well before we’d gotten on the plane – but my reasoning is that hopefully things will get a bit easier for him if he can regain some of his energy.

When I get back, though, the lights are all off, and Baz…

He’s fast asleep at last; curled up beneath the duvet, with it bunched around his shoulders.

I can’t help but smile softly, because he just looks so peaceful; as if nothing in the world can hurt him. With the light from the window lighting up his face and outlining him in silver, he looks positively ethereal.

When I’ve stayed in places like this before- which isn’t often - there’s normally been spare bedding on top of the wardrobe, and this is no different. A quick search yields a duvet and a few extra pillows, and I start making up a bed on the floor in the dark, as quietly as I can, when –

“Snow?” Baz’s voice, muffled by sleep, asks. “What on earth are you doing? I can hear you from here.”

“Sleeping on the floor.” I tell him.

“Nonsense.” He says, cracking open one eye to fix me with a judgemental look. “Get over here.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.” I say. “I bought food and pain meds – if you want it. And I can sleep in the bathroom if you need quiet.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m cold. You’re like a human space heater. Just get in the bed.” He grumbles.

So I get in the bed, and one wing falls over us like a blanket. Baz hums and nestles himself against my chest again, like it’s where he was always supposed to be, curling his fingers into my shirt and humming contentedly.

“Comfortable?” I ask.

“Passably. It’s not like the beds at Watford though.” He says, and there’s a soft smile on his lips.

“Fair enough.” I say, and then – because I can’t stop myself, “look, Baz, If you want me to leave at all – “

He turns in my arms, sleepily.

“Do you want to leave?”

“Of course not.” I say. Baz is here – in my arms, his breath gentle against my face, and his hand finds it’s place in mine. It’s real, so real, and I want to cry from the overwhelming feeling lodging itself inside my chest.

“Then don’t, Simon.” He says, and he snuggles further into my arms and pulls the cover over both of us. “Stay.”

And I stay. The future isn’t certain, but perhaps one thing finally is.

Baz wants me here.

So I stay.

**Author's Note:**

> So!! Let me know what you think :)


End file.
